it Matters
by Vita Consuelo
Summary: Abraham just wants to celebrate all the good things finally happening to The Family, until his well intentioned words, spark some interesing responses from the community as they hold their monthly shindig. *POST Negan, AU s7 and beyond, some swearing, some serious topics, but lots of humor I hope.


A/N: I wanted to do something both light and serious in nature because I feel like this topic is never quite handled right in this fandom. A little OOC for some, but it's Saturday and I have insomnia because I kept thinking about this since November 8.

Review. Flamers, lovers, haters, anons, and all opinions welcome

*WDWDWDWDWDWDWD*

It was a momentous occasion. And to the former soldier who may not have been the most eloquent speaker before or after the world went to hell, he still felt he was duty bound to bless the festivities with his unique brand of...emceeing.

It _was_ a momentous occasion, afterall.

Not just for the man getting ready to address the small crowd in his friends' backyard, but for everyone. There were fairy lights strung up from post to post post, earth colored patio furniture all formed in a lazy circle around a huge fire pit. Fire bugs danced against the pitch black sky in competition with the stars.

Things were looking up.

There was hope where there was once despair. Resolve where uncertainty once laid claim to wary wearied souls. There were lazy Saturdays again. It was worth mentioning, to say the least, how lucky they all were.

The red headed giant stood up from his wooden log as he cleared his throat. Palms were sweaty; a harmonious mixture of nettled nerves, Otis Redding advising fortuitously to try a little tenderness, southern summer sun, and a few glasses of something he wasn't entirely sure could be called alcohol.

And he would know.

But his twenty plus years of service had taught him to give little of his emotions away. To show only what was necessary. That was how you lived to tell the tale.

And at the moment, the only feeling worth displaying to his family (because really that is what they were) was happiness.

He wasn't close to it or around the corner from it, but he was one hundred percent certified right as fucking rain.

Watery blue eyes made contact with brown orbs, also aglow. The joyous feeling shared by them both had been hard won and it was the kind of emotion that only kindred spirits could understand.

Her soft face, made sienna colored by the flickering flames, was bare and despite all she had been through in her short 25 years, unburderened with lines of any sort. Her hair, usually pulled back in a natural French braid for her sniper duties, was flowing just above her breasts in tight coils and her charming widow's peak only made her more appealing.

Normally her uniform consisted of pants, boots, tank top and a focused expression suited for the type of duties she had. But tonight he watched her in a haze. She was flawless.

Her usual uniform was replaced with a flowing orange goddess-y dress and fancy sandals with bangles on her delicate feet, whose jangles were meant to entice and seduce.

He watched her earlier in the evening applying all her smell goods, hair products and pretties she had obtained over the course of major runs.

They almost didn't make the party.

Now she was smiling that special smile for him. And he could not help but grin like a Cheshire cat, even his mustache couldn't contain it's depths.

For a minute they were the only two people to exist.

Diamond Rio began playing softy in the background telling him to step up to the plate the way that only a country song could do, so he cleared his throat once more.

"It is the damnest thing in the new New World," he began, "that it took a deadly virulant strain of some man made long winded scientific thingamajig that's killed off most likey ninety percent of the population and that's just China and India alone; destroying tens of thousands of years of human history,cultures, and civilizations warring with one another sometimes to the point of total genocide, just to arrive at this very moment. All that fightin' each other over bullshit and in the end none of it mattered cause the devil took all of us down to Georgia and that fucker wasn't picky."

A chorus of glasses and shouts echoed on the fire lit night.

"Before everything happened not damn near one of us could say we'd be like this or with each other. But-"

"Oh God," a slightly tipsy female voice called out. "Who gave Abraham that fucking Mississippi moonshine? We are gonna be forever now listening to G.I. Poe here getting poetic and sloppy."

The soldier moved to another pair of brown eyes (these were lighter), ones he had also shared heated looks with at one time or another. There was no joy or warmth there. It was all still fresh he supposed.

He understood and accepted it because he was no longer at the point where he was willing to hide his heart even if it meant hurting someone he still cared about.

She was after all still family.

They came here together, a symbol of the new world order where only the strongest women could surive along side the strongest men.

She was more than that to him and yet less than what he wanted for his future. It was unfortunate. But so was their lot in life to live throught this shit.

So he returned her challenging gaze refusing to give it pity because that was not what she wanted.

Her lips were pursed in bitch mode, her warm olive skin catching the flickering flames against her uniform of army green shorts and a crop top. She was still beautiful to him. Still a perfect companion.

But not his.

 _Clarity is a twisted btich_.

Set to retort, he opened his mouth to defend or continue as if uninterrupted (he hadn't made it that far in his mental process yet) when another feminine voice spoke up.

The goddess who now shared more than his log bench cut her steely gaze toward the heckler.

"Hey! Back off. Don't hate."

The heckler snorted then rolled her eyes before facing his goddess in a dangerous challenege.

"Bitch, please! No one is hating. We are trying to get white girl wasted at this fiesta and Colonel Sanders here is trying to fuck up the flow with some We Are The Swirl bullshit."

"Be the bigger person, be the bigger person," whispered the lithe woman who sat directly across from her annoyed best friend, willing her to rise above the potentially disastrous moment.

An incredulous guffaw echoed softly in her ear. The offender-currently hosting as her human chair and absent mindedly playing with a strand of her luscious locs-also rolled his eyes.

A silent but meaningful glare from orbs so dark they looked like black endless pools (only enhanced by the bonfire mirrored in them) had him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Only his lover's wordless reproach could turn him on and check him all at once.

If the log warrior was a goddess as Abraham had called his woman repeatedly, the female sitting in his lap was the damn Empress of the Universe.

He planned on getting laid tonight. Like he did almost every night for the last nine months. His woman wasn't the type to withhold her lovin' as a way to manipulate him emotionally. That was...well that was other women. But she was the type to spend all night with her best friend if said best friend was upset and needed girl time. Then he and Abraham Ford would be sitting in his living room torturing themselves with images of what they weren't doing with their ladies, drinking stale beer and chips in the damn dark.

He would never fashion himself to be called anything god-like or royal, but every Empress needed a consort. And if he ever wanted consorting of any kind once this hellish monthly community shindig was over, he knew he had to put on his reluctant leader hat to keep shit from getting _shittier_.

"You weren't saying that when he was fucking his flow into you, mamí!"

Too late.

The leader of the Alexandria Safe Zone sighed.

"Oh shit," whispered a younger man next to the human chair. His expression could be best described as deviously hopeful. Human inhouse drama was better than Walkers or pyschotic leaders-trying-to-suck-the resources-out-of-his-community drama. Shamefully, he was unashamed since he had never taken pleasure in others' pain, especially a friend. But it was a testament to just how bad things had been. It was a position he could take since he was only second in command next to the Grimes.

"This got R rated real quick. Carl, Enid why don't you check on the kids?" the leader barked to a teenaged boy sitting on the other side of the quasi circle around the bonfire, his arm secured tightly around his girlfriend.

"So they can get rated R with each other?" said a young plain woman with short hair who sat next to the young man who was also her husband.

The Empress groaned. The consort tried not to grin.

The young Korean man, however, was not amused. "Good point babe. Carl, Enid cover your ears!" Enid may have been close enough to his age to be his sister, but his Maggie and him saw her as a daughter. Their daughter.

He respected Rick Grimes and loved him like a brother and that made Carl his nephew by extension. But he would still strangle that kid if need be.

Lovingly, of course.

The teens in statement, rolled their eyes at the adult fuckery.

And since the evening had gone all the way off track, why not more with random ass facts from the community genius?

"Technically, Rosita probably has a very high ratio of Spanish and other mixtures of ethnic European blood compared to her Indigenous American heritage so there really isn't a radical difference between Abraham and herself racially speaking."

"Shut up Eugene!" shouted everyone.

Except for Olivia who sat demurely next to Eugene roasting a marshamllow. Because the inventory goddess found his randomness hot. And Eugene found her lists to be erotic.

"He's just saying...spicy white and white as fuck is still white."

"Shut up Gisela!" everyone shouted.

Except for her partner who was nodding in agreement. Or maybe it was the beat in his head as he had their coveted ipod with 40,000 tunes bumping his joint Dirt Off Your Shoulders.

From Country to Hip Hop. His play lists were epic.

"As a Blatina, I gotta keep it gully. Hay no una raza," said the The Kingdom visitor and resident explosives expert with her melodic Spanish Harlem accent striking a different note among the twangs and midwestern twahls of the former nation.

"What the...what does that even mean?" asked a bewildered Glenn Rhee, the young man next to Rick.

"It means, that Bitter Boots over here and I share a language but not a culture. I am Blatina. Fully Blatina," the afrocubana stated proudly.

"Gotta keep it KMNT till the bitter end no matter what side of the Diaspora you ride for. Our people ain't going out like that bruh. We created the first world and we gonna twerk the hell out of Earth 2."

Gisela smiled lovingly at Makai Hughes' co-sign. His tall frame spilled out of the lawn chair barely holding him. Also a visitor from the Kingdom (expert tradesmen and sniper) and somehow always the cleanest and freshest man amongst the three allied communities.

Also, the resident Childish Gambino. Except not a sell out. (His words.)

"Damn right," Gisela said with a fist in the air.

"Thank you Sistah Souljah," Sasha (the goddess on the log) dryly clapped.

Gisela giggled along with a few others. "All I am saying is that there has to be one couple out here who is willing to carry on these African genes to the next generation. All ya'll are up here in this _commumidad_ looking like a fucking Oreo McFlurry and shit. I support it, but goddamn! Do brothas even exist around here or are they skiing too? Sorry Padre. And Heath."

Both men sighed.

Sasha and Michonne laughed at that. Abraham, not so much. Neither did Rick for that matter. This was not how things went at community functions. Topics like this rarely came up in their neck of the woods. Neither of their ladies seemed upset at being picked on, but still.

This was the first joint tri-communal social gathering that Hilltop, The Kingdom, and the Alexandria Safe Zone had established since deciding to trade and support one another in the aftermath of taking down Negan and his Saviors.

The leaders of each settlement agreed that socializing with one another stregnthed ties and would help establish some type of re-civilization to their small portion of the world. Every month, one household from either community would host a gathering so that all could enjoy in sharing their blessings.

But now, Rick was not so sure. With the majority of the visitors and Alexandria crew retired after a day full of merry making, what was left in his yard were the core members of the ASZ brigade and a few close new friends from the other groups gathered around the fire pit in the Grimes' back yard.

Gisela, the current troublemaker (and Sasha and Michonne's new bestie though after tonight he wasn't sure why) and her husband Makai were definitely products of their own environment.

It was true the Kingdom was definitely more minority dominated. And that was just how things happened with Ezekiel being head honcho and them getting a lot of the city survivors from the Mason Dixon line.

But he wasn't going to let them disrespect his sacred relationship with his soulmate over something as trivial as skin color and past politics. Abraham was right that it shoudn't matter anymore. Not after what they all had been through.

"It's bullshit anyway is what I was saying," Abraham reiterated hotly.

Gisela rolled her eyes toward Makai and groaned. She had been fifty percent joking when she made her comment, but now she was one hundred percent serious.

"It doesn't matter to you now and it didn't then because it doesn't affect you. This is the type of thinking that starts the cycle up again. You and Sash, Miche and Rick...ya'll are here but there are about seventeen other couples in your community who are blanca as snow. They are gonna keep their legacies going. And ya'll gringos are in your fucking element, being bat shit crazy and killing anything and everything out of greed and the need to be on top. You will continue to see people who look like you as time goes on but who the fuck knows how many of mine survived in this country or in Cuba or our motherland, or in other places where we are few and far in between and where our lives were disposable before all this crazy shit went down? Like, how did all this happen to begin with? Because you know damn well me and mine would never. But we will still suffer the most for your transgressions against humanity despite not having a single fucking thing to do with it. It's a collective issue not an individual one and you benefit from it even now as a leader of this group no matter how you as an individual may feel. And Carl and Enid need to hear this because they will be future leaders here. They will inherit this new norm. Our children will be the ones to set things right, if we teach them well."

There was a tension filled silence permeating the air.

Michonne and Sasha exchanged glances. Michonne was about to speak when Rick beat her to it.

"Look, this here is a community that is trying to rebuild something new. Something better. What you believed before or who you were or your tribe don't mean shit when a herd is circlin' you and all you got is each other. We know better now. We are all human and it's us against them. All of us."

Rick noticed Michonne stiffen at his words and questioned her silently. She shook her head slightly as if to indicate a later more private discussion.

Well, fuck. He might not get laid after all. And he wasn't sure why.

Makai straightened in his chair. "Bruh, really? Who we are and what we are should matter. This doesn't change a fucking thing. You didn't see what I saw in Chicago. Your magical group is not the norm out here. And ya'll are still more homogeneous than anything else outside of your little core clan. As long as people from before breathe on this earth, so will our deepest ingrained beliefs and all the bullshit that goes with it. Because you can't even acknowledge important differences and have these conversations even when you're fucking us and playing house

And a lot of us let ya'll get away with it. 'Cause we are still living in your default world and there is a facade of unity via survival. But shit, it don't mean we don't like you or hate you. We consider you and Michonne and everyone as friends who have proven themselves as such and we'd lay our lives down for each and everyone of you. Us saying we want to carry our legacy forward even now doesn't negate that. And if you really want a utopian community, to marry us, raise kids and all that shit you are gonna have to put in a lot more work. And the 'human race' line is not gonna cut it."

More silence ensued but for the hiss and cackling of the fire.

"All of ya'll are the reason why I ain't never was fixin to get hitched or have gremlins." The man who said it sat back twirling a weed around in his mouth, legs crossed, cross bow on his lap.

It was the only thing he had said in the two hours they'd been on Rick and Michonne's back lawn.

And it was exactly what was needed to break the barrier of heavy conversation the Fords and Grimes guiltily admitted they weren't ready for.

Gisela considered the redneck curiously. "Oh, I thought you were a repressed closet case."

"Real rap," chimed Makai. "Like my brother. Dude was walking around acting like we didn't know he was pasting Playboy covers on top of Playgirl magazines." Makai lifted his glass to the sky and toasted his loved one.

"I thought he was he asexual," said Sasha.

Daryl scowled but said nothing. Serves him right for contributing to this shit show. Silence is golden.

"I thought Caryl were knocking boots initially," Denise, the resident psychologist turned doctor offered.

Carol Peletier scoffed, her kind eyes resting on Denise as she passed around her pastries from her trusty Tupperware container. "I bake cookies and knock out assholes. Not boots, Denise."

"I bet those cookies are laced with poison, eh Shadow Boxer?"

Carol's eyes went from kind to bone chillingly murderous as she set her sights on Kenzo Nagasaki.

"The Lee Daniels reference bruh...daps." Makai half way rose out of his chair to give a pound to his Hilltop mate.

"Wait," Rosita asked, also momentarily distracted by the turn of conversation. "Did you just blend Carol and Daryl's names? "

Denise shrugged. "Well, duh. Tara and I are Dara, then there is Richonne, Sasham, Sposita, though after tonight maybe not so much...then Gleggie, Jaron, and Carid and of course Caryl."

Gisela shook her head in disbelief, her glorious waist legnth kinky coils following her every turn. "I can't believe you let her cut ya'll open."

Rick thanked God, that the evening hadn't completely gone to shit and did his leader bit. "Don't insult the good doctor now. I think it's nice." Though he had no clue what the fuck they were talking about. ap

Michonne smiled at him warmly and subtly nodded her head as if he single handedly changed the disaterous situation into a positive. They both knew differently but she was giving him the credit for a reason.

 _Stuff_ _and things are happenin' tonight_.

"Yeah because Richonne sounds normal and shippable. What the heck is a Gleggie?" asked Maggie.

"A ship of awesomesauce goodness," declared Glenn who kissed his wife sweetly on her lips. She smiled and caressed his handsome face.

"And we crackship too!" Denise exclaimed.

" _Babe_..." Tara warned. Her face started turning fifty shades of dead.

"Maghonne, Michenn, Sachonne, Rixonne, Dixonne, Rickyl, Ricksus," Denise went on happily.

"That's a lot of Dick for chicks who love chicks," said Abraham who at that point decided to table his speech when bitter exes weren't present.

Rick spit out his drink and a very annoyed Glenn was the recipient.

"And ya'll got Michonne getting nasty with half the fam," cried Gisela. She slatued at Michonme. "Respect mamí! Let me find out."

The Empress of the Walker Apocolyspe raised one regal eyebrow in reponse. She could feel her husband's body tense at the thought of sharing her.

 _3...2...1_.

"You'se all can look all you want, hell I do all day and night, but she's mine. So keep your shippin' boxes to yourself."

Mrs. Grimes took a sharp intake of breath and slyly rubbed his inner thigh.

She was going to fuck his brains out ASAP.

Tara, bit on one of Carol's cookies deep in thought. "I mean if you were gonna go bi or poly for anyone, the Kang of the Apocalypse and her King is pretty fucking necessary. Well, Michionne more than anyone, tbh."

"True story," said Kenzo. And everyone more or less had to agree that Michonne was loved and desired by all because she was manna from heaven, including Negan which everyone agreed was both creepy and also understandable.

Except for Daryl and Carl, who respectively were apalled at the turn the conversation had taken about his perceived sexuality or lack thereof and who was angry that they all forgot he and Enid were there.

 _Thanks fucked for killing third base action tonight,_ he thought glumly.

Carl saw the smirk his mom threw his way. She could have nipped that horrible convo in the bud, but the look that she gave him said it all. _Chess_. _Not_ checkers.

He sighed. _Well_ _played_ _mom_.

"And they call teenagers harmone fueled idots," Enid said disguted. "I can't believe she is a psychologist."

"I can," said Gisela. "Those bitches be crazy."

Father Gabriel lifted his eyes heavenward and cleared his throat.

"I think what Abraham was trying to convey before all this went to...Lord knows where, is that family is what you make it. The minute survival became more important than the learned hate we all were taught for those who were not the status quo, the innate instinct to love, form bonds and continue our spieces superceded every superfical man-made artifice. Because as Abraham so adaquately put it, it's bullshit."

There were a few gasps and nervous chuckles at the Father's coarse language. It was so unlike him. But maybe that was his point.

"Shared tragedy and loss, it's the ultimate equalizer. We have had to burn everything down to get down to the basics. The old ways are still there. There are remnants of hate and despair and desparation and because we are human and therefore fallible this will never fully disappear. But the more we rebuild and heal, whether you choose someone within or outside your race, gender, creed, etcetera, or whether you let God choose for you the perfect mate. The end product is love, hope, and peace. Now more than ever love matters. All types of love are needed-not to rebuild the old world but to make a new one. The one that should have already happened. We remember and honor the past and the history and who we are because Gisela and Makai are right. It does and should matter. It can never be untethered or divested from us. It brought us here and we should never forget. We should celebrate our differences and continue to learn about our friends and neighbors. And I ask that you take this opportunity to thank Jesus or whichever higher power you subscribe to, for allowing us to find each other so that we can build this new world."

"You rang?"

Everyone looked up at the man standing to the side of the yard with a box of Sam Adams in his hands.

His blue eyes discreetly took in the man with the vest and redneck ensemble and smiled affectionately at the slight returned acknowledgement before looking at the rest of the gang who looked at him mystified.

"What? What did I miss?"

" _Amen_." Glenn said with laughter as he made the crucifix on his chest.


End file.
